No Hope - 72nd Hunger Games
by lizze.vernn95
Summary: Hazel Fitcher form district 8, was always a no hope case, so when she's picked for as tribute girl for the 72nd Games she feels as though she lost before she's even begun. Rated T because its the hunger games ;)


To be truthful I can't really remember my reaping, and I don't want too, that day and of course the reminder every year, will be marked in my memory as the worst day of my life.

Living in District 8 means that we have a poor life. We have enough food, but we're always hungry, we learn to get on with it, I know we have more food than other districts, before I was in the Hunger Games I witness many children from the districts such as 12 and 11, whom were all skin and bone, and that's after a few days in the Capitol. District 8 is a medium-sized District with the largest population of all of Pamen, we have a few small factories, surrounded my one main one, where the Capitol hover crafts land to collect the textiles that make their people look so utterly ridicules and , the rest of district 8 is small shops and houses. To the entrance of our district, where the train arrives to take our friends and children to their deaths, we have twenty fine houses that form the victor's village; two of the houses are occupied. Fifteen have never been lived in. In all fairness, I hate living here, we have absolutely no greenery, no promise of new life, we used to have a patch of grass outside the school yard but now pollution has swallowed up that as well. The air is heavy with smog and everyone here is plagued with heavy coughs and wheezy lungs. We're not required to stay at school, at the age of fourteen we leave school and go straight to the factories sewing and creating materials, when I first stepped foot inside the factory I loved the smell of new clothes, now I loathe it.

My house is near the fence that borders the woods and presumably wild animals, although the stretch of meadow before the drop into the dark trunks looks pleasant and inviting compared to the real district. I've lived in this little shack with my older brother and my twin sister for most of my life, we lived in the center of the village, next to the shops when I was very young and my mum was still healthy, her life was claimed by a combination of her unhealthy lungs and pneumonia, I haven't felt much remorse for her death, I hardly knew her. My older brother Felix, felt like he couldn't live in a house we're the only reminder of her was her spirit, so he moved house taking me and my sister Mae with him, being six years older than us he obviously had a connection stronger than me and my twin did.

Life was hard but we managed, Felix gained a high-ranking job in the factory as a Warehouse manager so he bring in the food that gave us the precious bread and water that kept us alive. But even the hardest winters that we pushed though were nothing compared to the brutality of the reaping and in its 72nd year of annually sending us off to a public death, I found myself standing with the other 13-year-old, my fingers entwined my sisters, with one name ringing around the giant square "Hazel Fitcher".

And I couldn't believe it; I'd taken out tesserae so of course my chances had been slightly heightened, but only 2 more slips had accompanied my original two, leaving my name in the bowl with a grand total of 4. My friend Katy was 14 and had taken out tesserae for the other 5 people in her family and my name comes up. I feel some nudge me in my back and I suddenly realize that I've stood still for too long, our outrageous escort Flitter spots me through her 2 inch fake blue eyelashes and beckons me to the stage with a smile that I can only match with hidden happiness and I feel sick to my stomach. I push myself forwards, my knees unlock and I leave behind my sister's hand. Peacekeepers swarm around me as if I'm about to break away and run. What's the point? I'm already heading too my death. I mount the steps and stand on stage, blinded by Flitter's costume; she's wearing a tight blue corset and a short skirt that pleats then curves out in the most outrageous shade of pink I've ever laid my eyes on, a pair of tights that are a little more of a subtle shade and pointy shoes, with blue feathers stuck on the heel. Her wig is a combination of blue and pink, her face is so pale with blue shades of blusher melting into pink. I drag my eyes away from her and I catch my brother's face, just this year he turned 19, he was safe, I bet that he never assumed that I and Mae would have a first class flight to hell. Flitter totters over to the other bowl and I hoping it's not someone I know, I press my eyes closed then realize that all of Pamen can see me and I blink them open quickly. "Ashkii Normat" I don't know this boy, I've never had the pleasure of meeting his acquaintance. I soon realize I'm glad I never did meet him because when a sturdy 17-year-old walks up to the stage, face covered in a smug grin for the 18-year-old girls, I'll never have a chance it comes down to us too I'll never . Who am I kidding, District 8 has never been very good at the Hunger Games I'll probably die in the bloodbath, and cocky tributes never got sponsors and quickly die off.

Most districts are lucky, they learn skills that help them in the area, working in a factory isn't really a skill that helps you survive, and being only 13 I've never been in the factory not to work anyway, unless you ignore the tour we have every year at school to see the workers and pry over job choice, but I think they only do those tours to get us used to the fumes we have to withstand for multiple hours a day. We are forced to shake hands, then pushed through the doors of our old dusty justice building, I manage to turn my head to see my sister's face, and then the peacekeeper behind me grabs my hair and forces me to look forwards. Before we are eaten by the darkness I hear Flitter laugh and mutter something about no hope, then with a flick of her hair she ushers us forwards and straight into the separate rooms.


End file.
